


Ghost of You

by ChildOfTheDragon



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Adopted Alexander Hamilton, Adopted Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton Being an Asshole, Blood, Blood Loss, Character Death, Child Death, Demonic Possession, Demonic Thomas Jefferson, Demons, Disease, F/M, Gay John Laurens, Ghost Hunter AU, Ghost Hunter Alexander, Ghost John Laurens, Ghost Sex, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Manipulation, Mentioned Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood, Mind Rape, Multi, Needles, Plague, Poly Lafayette, Poly Mulligan, Psychic Lafayette, Self-Harm, Sickly Alexander Hamilton, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Swearing, Voyeurism, Witch Angelica, Witch Eliza, Witch and Psychic Peggy, coughing up blood, vaccination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChildOfTheDragon/pseuds/ChildOfTheDragon
Summary: John's soul got tied up with some demons, now it's bound straight for hell and there's nothing he can do to stop it. But when the demonic entity that tricked him sets it's sights on Alex, a ghost hunter just looking for some answers into what happens to a soul after death, John is suddenly faced with a choice: protect Alex and his family by becoming the very same monster that bound him or convince them to cut him free and save himself from eternal torment and damnation.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyyyeee, I had another idea for a Hamilton fic. Sooooo....here ya go, we'll see how far we get with this one. Some trigger warnings for ya: 
> 
> **Character death, violent death, suicide, thoughts of suicide, Benjamin Franklin not taking anyone's bullshit, homophobic slurs and comments, swearing out the wazoo, ghost sex, ghost!Laurens (sorry John, I swear you're my favorite), psychological torture, manipulation, pagans being strong enough to tell a demon to fuck off with it's bullshit without needing to get the catholic church involved, rape, demonic possession, the gaaaaays, self harm, religious damnation of queer expressions and sex, Ouija boards and other occult paraphernalia being used and NOT mishandled, the death of characters BECAUSE they are gay, and Peggy.**
> 
> Okay, so first things first, I'm like a 30 year old geezer now, and as much as I can enjoy writing for writing's sake, I am very much aware that it is not my greatest passion. Now, I put a lot of work and effort into my fics, and there is a lot that I write that never sees the internet, but I've noticed over the years that I tend to follow a certain little trend. 
> 
> _**I start writing chapter stories that I never finish.** _
> 
> I am just a person who writes the kind of fuckery she wants to see in the fanfiction realm for her own amusements and literally nothing else. I do it because it amuses me for a while and when the amusement is done, I just move on to whatever else I want to be amused by. I have a lot of other hobbies that I like to pick at or indulge in, and while I wish I would start a writing project and see it through to it's completion like I used to when I was a teen, at this point in my life I think it's just easier to be open and honest with my readers and say:
> 
> _**I just feel like you should know that this story might not have an ending that will satisfy you.** _
> 
> I'm just starting something that I'm gunna see how far it goes before I drop off the face of the world again. Once that happens, wherever we are, however far we get, I'm sorry if it's not the end-end. I can say right now that I want to write this story out fully and see it through til it's end, and I mean that honestly, but wither or not I actually will will be decided as time goes by. And I just can't make any more promises that I won't keep. So that's it really, my intention here is to just do all the work that I feel like doing, put forth my best efforts and take it as far as it'll go. If nothing else please just let me be an inspiration to you, a challenge to you, to always better yourself in your own writings or your creative passions, even if it's not something you think you'll dedicate your life too. Just get better at what you like to do. I don't expect you to take everything seriously and be the best at everything, but always strive to be better then you were last time.
> 
> That all being said, let's get on with the fic!
> 
> ~Child of the Dragon

 

**PROLOGUE:**

He walked slowly along the brisk and nearly empty streets, the haze of a hot summer day in Philadelphia finally beginning to break away to a cooler evening chill that hinted that the season was about to turn. Tourists had come and most were gone by now, the setting sun and long growing shadows no longer offering picturesque scenes for their family albums, the historic buildings beginning to be swallowed in the darkness that even a camera's flash would not adequately capture the beauty and imposing history of. He looked idly around for a place to move too, some place where shadows would swallow him too, where he would find a moment of peace from the swirling void of thoughts in his mind, from the nightmares, from the things that moved in the corners of his eyes. He pulled his thin jacket around him tighter, hiked his worn and ratty looking knapsack higher on his shoulder. The bottoms of his shoes were held on with duct tape, and barely at that for he'd walked right out of the soles of his shoes long ago. He was thin, a starved husk of the boy he'd been only a few years back as he walked many streets famished. Tonight was no different. His stomach had stopped protesting now, it knew there was no point.

 _No point_.

His steps slowed, he felt heavy. To his left was a bench, not that big but he could lay down and sleep if needed. Third street didn't seem that busy now that the sun was slipping slowly behind the horizon. He shook his head, memories of cops roughly making it known he wasn't welcome to just sleep wherever he pleased in public. A little further up he saw an open gate, leading behind some large important looking building.

_You're a waste of space._

First National Bank of the United States of America, some plaque on the street read. He looked up at the imposing Greek revival architecture, and the empty black windows. For a moment he thought he could see a man in a powdered white wig staring out one of the top windows, but as he blinked the man disappeared and he thought it no more then a trick of the light. He turned and shuffled toward the gate, around the imposing building into a quaint little courtyard with trees and shrubberies that blocked most of the street's view. It wasn't home, not anything close, but it would do.

_No one wants you. They hate you. You're disappointment, a disgrace._

He moved to a short but thick brick wall, a makeshift sitting bench among the landscaping, and sat down slowly, his body aching with hunger and too much time spent in the elements.

_Worthless. Piece of garbage._

His hazel eyes held little life in them anymore, at least not to those who looked into them. He stared down at the brick laid ground for a moment, trying to avoid seeing....seeing it. He didn't know what it was, he only knew he was the only one who saw it, and that he didn't like it. It came out of the darkness. It would sit on his chest, hold him down. He dreaded going to sleep, that's when it came. At first it had started only as he was asleep, nightmares that shook him to his core, shook him awake, sitting bolt upright screaming wherever he had laid down. Then it progressed, he'd be awake but unable to move, seeing it holding him down, it's face inches from his, screaming at him, cackling, sharp rows of teeth glistening in the early morning light. Sleep paralysis and night terrors the internet had told him. He thought he would just have to deal with it. After all, it wasn't like he had the means to see a doctor that could fix it for him.

_You don't deserve life._

It got worse. Nightmares, no matter how bad weren't supposed to leave marks. At first it was bruising. Hand prints around his wrists. Then the scratches, sets of three all over his body whether it was covered or not. As old marks would heal, a fresh new one would take it's place. Sometimes he would wake up to find a scratch that seems to be healing just fine had split open again, cutting deeper into his flesh. Then he dreamt it bit him. He'd woken up screaming, his chest bleeding from the contact and suddenly he knew it was more then a night terror. He'd collected his things right away then, and walked all the way down to a local soup kitchen he'd been told operated out of a church. But before he could walk into the house of God a sickness overtook him, and the horrid memories of an abusive childhood crippled his mind.

_They'll never accept you. They'll kill you first. Faggot. You're a sinner. You're unclean. They'll send you to hell where you belong, you're damned, you're filthy._

Schizophrenia, the internet told him. He wanted to believe that. It was easier to believe that. After all, the voices were getting louder now. He was hearing them all the time. And the alternative would be admitting that his father had been right, that God was real and his own sexual lust for men had angered this omnipotent being who lived in the sky, and now he was being punished for refusing to repent his wicked ways. And he didn't believe that, he didn't believe that love between two consenting adults could be wicked.

_There is no such thing as God. Your father just hated you. He just hated what you are._

The marks were another mystery, tho the internet had given him a plausible explanation for those as well. The Red Death. He hadn't contracted it when the disease had been at it's most rampant, but the appearance of lacerations all over his skin from some unseen force couldn't be explained by any other means. It wasn't supposed to be deadly anymore, not if you had the proper vaccinations. John's parents had made sure they'd all gotten the proper vaccinations years ago, but then who knew how diseases mutated and changed over the years?

_You're sick. You're sick. You're so sick, disgusting little faggot._

He dug into his backpack and found a half full bottle of whiskey. Uncapping it he took a long drink. Sometimes that quelled the voices.

_You don't deserve to be alive._

Sometimes it didn't.

He jolted some when he thought he felt a hand grab him, but no one was there. Still, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the only weapon he had, a pocket knife he'd gotten after the first time he was mugged while sleeping on the streets. The weight of it comforted him, though he knew it would not do anything for him from the assault in his brain.

_But it can make the pain stop. It can make all your troubles stop._

He shook his head, loose dark brown curls bouncing around his face as he did so. No. That wasn't an option.

_You cut yourself all the time though. You have been for years. Your body longs for the blade again, you know it does. You cut in your sleep too, you want it so bad. You know you want to, you're so sick._

He reached a hand down to his hip, and rubbed it over another area that bore a distinct set of three scratches underneath his clothes, scabbed over now and healing. He'd never thought that he was cutting in his sleep. That was a new suggestion and it turned his stomach over. He had been a cutter years ago when he was a teenager, a means to an end of expressing how hurt he felt inside living with the weight of a secret identity he couldn't express. But he'd put that kind of behavior behind him when he was cast out onto the streets at 16, a punishment from a father who refused to house a son who would no longer keep himself silent. It had been scary, and hard at first, with nowhere to go or no one he could turn to for any help, but he'd also realized that he didn't have to stay in his backwards thinking asinine little southern town either, and the freedom that came from his journey north had elated him.

_Whore. Filthy whore._

At first. Then the voices started. The nightmares followed. Then the sleep paralysis and night mares turned to terrors, and the hallucinations and lacerations were not to far behind that. He was sick, without the means to get better. He figured he would just have to handle it, the paranoia of his mind made it hard to trust anyone else, seeing his father's angry face in the eyes of anyone he tried to ask for help beyond the bare basics. He resorted to panhandling to get by; his downtrodden and distressed looking self usually got him just enough attention to get a little money here and there, but his lack of self-care and vacant stares into the void of reality or the way he sometimes babbled to himself in an effort to drown out the voices when they got too bad must've made him look like a tweeker, roaming around out of his mind and just looking for another fix. He was caught in a downward spiral, and he was too tired to fight his way out of it. He took another sip from his flask.

_Sinner. Unclean._

He moved to lay down, using his backpack as a pillow and trying to get as comfortable as he could on the edge of the small wall. It was going to be chilly, but it was not winter yet and he figured he wouldn't need the blanket in his bag, better to use it for his head. He was so fatigued that sleep came to him quickly, despite the whispering in his ears.

_He stood in darkness, nothing around him as far as he could see. He knew this place, not as any place he'd been in his travels, but it was the same place he always came when he slept now. At first he'd walked around, but night after night he was disappointed to find nothing more then the darkness, everlasting._

_A growling came up behind him then, something breathed harshly against his neck. He held perfectly still, daring not to move or turn to face it, petrified in fear. It cackled, and he knew it could feel his own terror. He knew what would come next, but he also knew that there was no out running it. He'd stopped trying to outrun it so long ago._

_He screamed as claws dug into him, as tendrils of darkness wrapped around his body, squeezing tightly, what felt like fire engulfing him. It cackled behind him, drawing joy from the agony he felt, drawing strength. It dropped him and he crumpled, fell to his knees, shaking from the attack but unable to get up and run. He'd stopped trying to outrun it so, so long ago._

_He was pressed down into the ground, his face choking on dirt, as the jagged sharp edges of claws raked across his back. He screamed and begged it to stop, he cried out in agony, he wailed for someone to help him, anyone to save him. No body ever came. He felt punched, and kicked, blow after blow rained down on his body. Hands around his neck stole his ability to breath, his ability to scream. His body felt hot, like someone was pouring molten metal over it slowly. He felt something penetrating him._

_He began to buck and squirm, fighting back against his assailant in any way that he could. It was laughing as it rode him, delighted that he was fighting again, gleeful in this spark of life that made him thrash about beneath it. He got his neck free and with it his voice, screaming again, screaming for it to get back, to leave him alone, to GET OFF HIM NOW._

He woke up screaming, rolling off the edge of the wall into the dirt batch and bushes beside it. He sat up and looked wildly about for the monster that plagued his dreams, hoping to catch a glimpse of it this time, even if it was a hallucination. No such luck. Still he got to his feet, screaming his frustrations.

“ _LEAVE ME ALONE!!_ YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES, _**LEAVE ME ALOOOOONE!!!**_ ”

Gasping for breath, he dropped to his knees and wailed. His body hurt. He was so tired...his body _hurt_. He lifted his shirt and sobbed, seeing the blood from scratches wrapped around from his back, seeing the bruises starting to form. He was so tired, and his body _hurt so much_. It was getting worse. He doubled over in pain, bringing his hands up to cover his weeping face, and was confused to feel his pocket knife still grasped in one hand, unopened.

_2-4 minutes to pass out when you sever the carotid artery, 10 minutes, maybe 15 tops to die, but you won't even be conscious for it. You'll go faster if you get the femoral artery too._

He took a long, deep breath trying to process that thought.

_You'll get to rest. You won't even feel pain. It'll be over and you can just rest. Won't that be nice?_

He sniffled and put the knife back in his pocket. He needed to bandage his wounds. He needed to keep his clothes free form blood. If someone reported him with blood on his clothes, they'd cart him away. Not to an asylum or a hospital where he'd get help. In South Carolina there was a law, if you were seen with blood on your clothes....well, people shot first and asked questions later. He didn't know if it was the same in Pennsylvania too, but he wasn't going to take that chance. He reached for his backpack and it flew away as if it was kicked. He froze, staring at it in disbelief. The same growling noise was heard in his ear again and he sobbed. It was getting worse.

He felt hands grab him around the ankles and suddenly he was dragged across the pavement and thrown up against the building wall. He felt something choking him again, his feet too far off the ground so they kicked at an attacker that wasn't there. He was being punched and beaten. Something was biting into him, clawing into his flesh and this time it wasn't a dream, he was awake. The attack stopped as suddenly as it came and he was dropped once more, hitting the cold stone floor this time with a sickening thud. His pocket knife clattered to the ground beside him.

_Slit._

_Your._

_Throat._

He stared blankly at the knife, laying open beside him. He didn't remember opening it. When did he open it?

_When you cut yourself. When you carved the recent scratches into yourself._

He sat up and looked down at himself, the blood staining his old torn clothes from underneath. Memories of him slowly dragging the knife across his skin filled his mind. He shook them away. He needed to bandage the wounds before someone saw him. They would take him away. He couldn't be taken away. They'd hurt him. He couldn't be taken, he had to bandage the wounds.

_You want to die._

“Nooo...” his voice was horse and small, cracking in a way that hadn't happened since he was 10.

_YOU WANT TO DIE._

He tried to get up, his body was shaking. And his backpack was so far away. It felt easier to just lay down and let himself bleed, god he was so tired and he just wanted to sleep. But if he closed his eyes he felt hands on him, claws digging into his flesh, he heard screams in his ears, whisperings of what a worthless piece of shit he was, how much better he'd be off dead. He covered his head in a futile effort to block it out, digging his hands into the dark curly locks, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears cut a wet path down the dirt covering his face clearing away all but the freckles underneath.

The glint of the knife caught his attention, and everything fell silent.

He reached for the blade with a trembling hand. His dirty, bloody fingers closed around the cold hilt slowly, feeling the familiar weight. He'd gotten this knife as his only means of protection in a hard knock life on the streets, but there was only one way it could protect him from the voices attacking him from inside his own mind now. Carotid artery, 2 minutes to pass out, 10 or so til death. He looked around. No one would find him til the morning, til it was far to late to stop him, to help him. Carotid artery, 2 minutes to pass out. He pressed the blade to his neck.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, whatta we got here?” the detective asked as they lifted the sheet covering the body. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this kid is barely legal.”

“Yeah, looks like a mugging gone wrong, autopsy should tell us for sure,” his partner replied. “Looks like he might be one of them Red Death survivors too.”

“Hence all the extra precautions, eh? Tho I'm guessing cause of death would be the knife sticking out of his throat, eh?”

“More likely then not.”

“Who found the body?”

“Building manager and one of the tour guides. Officers are interviewing them now.”

“Any ID?”

“Yeah, a backpack left on the other side of the courtyard has a driver's license from South Carolina, says his name was John Anthony Laurens.”

John stood next to the detectives examining his corpse, tears streaming down his face. He'd given up screaming for someone to notice him hours ago. No one could see him, could see that his spirit was earthbound, no one was aware that he still needed help. His death was supposed to bed his suffering, it was supposed to bring him peace. A dark figure crept up behind him, it's long clawed fingers wrapping around him like they'd done so many times in his sleep, only now they were real and now he couldn't wake up from this nightmare. It chuckled darkly as it played with a chain that hung from a collar around his neck. Tentacles of darkness swirled up his legs, slithering against him in ways that made him tremble and whimper, a tongue dragged lazily up his neck and across his cheek. “You belong to me now, John,” a voice growled in his ear, a voice he knew so very well. “Welcome to hell.”

He screamed and agony was all that he knew.

 

**END PROLOGUE**

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

 

**Chapter 1:**

The car hit a bump and jostled it's passengers, causing the one sitting in the front passenger seat to stir with agitation and a cough. Alexander sat up straighter as the chest spasm worsened, leaning forward into the crook of his elbow toward the door. A hand reached forward from behind him and stroked his back, minding him to take slow deep breaths. As the fit subsided, he checked for blood and leaned back in his seat with a groan after making sure there was none.

“Nasty cough there, son,” said the driver, a bald man in a navy blue shirt and light jeans. “You aren't getting sick again, are you?”

Alex gave him a bit of a glare from the corner of his eye, but declined not to make a comment, instead reaching for what he thought was a water bottle being offered from the back seat. He looked back at the woman as he opened the thermos she handed him trying to eye what was inside. “It's a herbal tea with lemon and honey,” she answered before he could ask. “Eliza said you would need it.”

“I didn't think I would,” he said. “I've felt fine the last two days.”

“Yeah, well, you're clearly still fighting off the dregs of whatever it is you had. Drink up.”

Alex nodded his thanks as he sipped from the thermos. The tea was still warm, but not scalding and it felt good going down his throat. “How much father, George?”

“Just under an hour,” the driver replied. “We should be there before dark.”

“Yeah, we've heard that one before,” another woman from the back seat behind Alex said with a chuckle. She tapped Alex on the shoulder with the butt of her pencil then passed him a picture she was working on. “Here, what do you think of this?”

He took the sketch pad that was offered and looked over the detailed work laid out on it. It never failed to amaze him how much talent his little sister-in-law had. She drew some of the most photo realistic portraits he'd ever seen, and this time Alex found himself gazing into the eyes of a young man that looked so real that Alex was sure he would think nothing of seeing the image breath or blink. Dark curly brown hair framed a freckled face and full lips parted slightly in a moment of contemplation. The fact that she was even able to produce such work in and of itself was astounding, but the fact that she'd been working on this while in a moving vehicle really blew Alex away. But the eyes are what caught his attention the most. They looked sad, and lost. Alex knew the look well, Peggy drew it in many of the portraits she produced. The thing that most people didn't know about the paintings and sketches that made it to her art showings in galleries all over New York was that the subjects she captured were no longer living. Not a single one.

Alex studied the man in her sketch pad for a moment, he looked so young. It was easy to look at Peggy's work when she drew people you expected to have been passed on, the elderly for example, or his own mother. That had been the only time she'd really scared him with her talent. After all, his mother had died when he was 12, and the foreclosure of their house when he was 13 took all his remaining possessions, including the only photos he had of her. He'd actually started crying when Peggy had offered to give him the drawing.

But all that aside, it was hard for him to see faces that were so young in her sketch book. The children and women always pulled hard at his heartstrings. He wanted to know what had happened to them, if the cause of their deaths needed any justice to be served. Sometimes, Peggy once told him, sometimes they would tell her their stories. Sometimes all she got were faces, she said. And sometimes she said they didn't want their stories told, at least not by her, not yet. He slowly flipped back a few pages, finding a drawing of one such woman that was never in short supply in Peggy's sketch book. A woman she called Maria.

“She doesn't like when you look at her portraits without asking,” Peggy's voice chided from the backseat.

“Sorry,” Alex said, more force of habit then anything else. He flipped back to the portrait of the young man she'd been working on when she gave him the sketch pad and looked it over once more. “What's his story?” Alex asked.

Peggy sighed from the backseat. “I can't even get a name,” she replied. Alex heard the truth in her words. Sometimes when she said she didn't know the story you could tell that she did, but whatever it was was just too awful for her to talk about. “I feel like.....there's something with his neck tho. He choked or hanged maybe? I really don't know. Do you know who he is?”

Alex sighed after a moment more of consideration and moved to hand her sketchbook back. “Sorry,” he said. “Can't say that I do. You can try asking Laf about it after the investigation.” She took it back with a groan.

“You know we can't tell you anything beforehand,” the other woman said, momentarily looking up from the book she was reading. “We want your honest impressions of the place, Peggy. It's important that we know what you're genuinely able to read of a place instead of what you might be letting color your perceptions.”

A static burst interrupted the car before Peggy could respond. “Lieutenant to General, come in General, over,” a voice with a mild french accent said over a CB radio. Alex picked up the microphone, pressed the button and responded, “this is The General, go for Lieutenant, over.”

“Tell Peggy to stop digging for information before we have even gotten to the location, over.”

“He's not even in the same car!” Peggy cried over the chuckles of the other three occupants.

“ _Oui_ , but I can feel you from all the way back here. And no, Alex was not holding down the button then. I am just that good, _mon ami_ , over.”

Alex laughed harder, another coughing fit threatening to take over again. He passed the mic back to the woman behind him as she slapped playfully at his shoulder, reaching for it, and turned away to drink more of his tea.

“If you're so good, then what's the name of my recent subject, hmm?” she asked the microphone. “What's his story? Over.”

“I was not aware you were picking up on someone already, over.”

“You don't feel them too? Over.”

“ _Non_ , I have no idea what you are speaking of, _mon amie_. Over.”

“Oooh, sounds like you're slipping Laf, over,” she teased.

“That is why we have you, _mon cher_.” He cut out and a moment later another velvet voice came back through. “We were hoping to make a quick pit stop soon. Ben and I could use the facilities, over.”

“Sound off,” George said and both Alex and Peggy raised their hands. “Angelica?”

“I'm fine, but if we must, we might as well,” the other woman replied. “Better we get to our destination and get started on setting up right away.”

George nodded to Peggy who responded. “Yeah we could use bathroom break soon too. Pull over at the next rest stop, okay Aaron? Over.”

“Affirmative General. We'll follow your lead, over,” said the other voice. She handed the microphone back to Alex, who moved to hang it back up on the receiver. The car resumed a soft quiet again, before the french voice came through again. “John, over.”

Alex picked up the microphone again. “Sorry Laf, say that again, over.”

“Peggy's boy. His name is John. Over.”

“Well what else?!” Peggy cried.

“Peggy wants to know if you got anything more then that, Laf. Over.”

“ _Non_ , he is not talking to me either, _mon amie_. We will just have to see what we get when we get to our destination. Where did you say we were going again, Alex? Over.”

“The First National Bank of the United States of America. Over.”

 

* * *

 

John walked down the corridor, paying little mind to the oil paintings that lined the walls or the artifacts under glass cases. He no longer stopped to take in any of the impressive craftsmanship details of the building, or listen to the last bit of the tour guide's speech of their last scheduled tour for the night. He stopped not for any of the plaques with little blurbs of history written on them about the people who worked to shape either the building or the country in it's infancy. He'd read them all anyway, memorized each one by heart. After all, he had nothing better to do with his time. And he had nothing but time now.

He stopped when he noticed a peculiar looking man standing ahead of him, gazing up at an oil painting with a kind of calm regard. The style of his clothes would have looked out of place were he walking down the street, for breeches and waistcoats were hardly the fashion of choice in society anymore, nor did people so casually wear their hair in stylized powdered wigs. John was about to shyly shuffle away when the man turned and caught his eye. His smile was one of rueful pity, and John silently seethed under the glance, embarrassment and shame raising in him. The man turned and approached him, making a soft hushing noise as he did so and patting the air between them. “Easy now, lad,” his voice was gentle. “Remember what we spoke of.”

“Don't feed the beast with unnecessary emotions,” John recited. He sighed and let go of feeling the negative emotions swirling to the surface in him. It was hard, he was still bitter about so much.

The man nodded, his blue eyes twinkling. “How does thou fare this evening?” he asked.

John looked down and tugged at the thick chain that hung from a collar around his neck, a chain the other did not bear. As long as this chain laid around his neck he could not cross over to the other side, and it was not in his power to break it. At the other end laid a demon, two of them in fact but John was bound first and foremost to the Master, the stronger of the two. In the three years since his death John had learned many things, most of them from the man standing before him. He had learned that demons were not at all fallen angels like his religious parents had made him believe, but rather were made of a human soul who refused to cross into the light after it's death. This was a problem because human souls weren't meant to stay earthbound for long, and the longer they stayed the more they broke down and decayed. A soul needed to cross over, to go into that holy light and be cleansed of it's past life and pain. If it didn't, well, it rotted. It lost sight of who it was and, fixated on the negativity that kept it from moving on, it bred hostility and malice until that's all it knew how to do. Feed and devour innocent souls, inflict pain and suffering on the living, spread darkness.

John had ended his life at the relentless suggestion of a demon's twisted darkness, and now John was bound to it, potentially forever.

Of course as John's soul could not cross over, this meant he too would decay and rot. How fast or slow depended on the individual, but being bound to a demon certainly exasperated the process. Fifty or so years and John would start to forget who he was. In a hundred he could be as bad as the Master that held him.

“I've been better,” he replied. That was always his reply. That would always be his reply now. He minded himself not to start crying. There was no point in it, and it often led to....well, things John would rather avoid, quite honestly.

“Perhaps this news will cheer you,” his companion said with a smile. “I have it on very good authority that Mr. Smith is allowing a team of investigators to come and spend the night in the bank this fine evening. Pray tell me John, will you join me in giving them a bit of a fright then?”

A small smile spread over John's face then. “You like to stir up so much trouble.”

“Eternity is an awful long time not to find fun where one can,” the man replied. His mirth faded a bit as he eyed the chain around John's neck. “But I will understand if you would rather not.”

John tugged on the chain again, it's hold on him unyielding. He was envious of the soul that stood beside him to be sure, but he was still grateful for his company and friendship. “Tell me about the other side,” he said, his grip on the chain tightening. “...please?”

The man nodded understandingly and cleared his throat. “As you know, it's hard for me to describe it in clear detail while here, because the condition of the gate is not to let anyone on either side of it recall vividly what the other side is like. But it is possible to recall what it is like to cross over. I saw a bright light and heard from it a chorus of voices that were familiar to me, singing and calling my name. I saw but one of the many people I had loved in my life appear before me and they took my hand and led me across to those that had passed before I had. I understood so many things all at once, things from my life that I had not comprehended at the time, things I could never understand no matter how hard I had tired. I knew secrets my friends had kept from me, lies my enemies had made me believe, genuine truths behind truths I had known in life. I felt a lifetime of pain and suffering lifted from my shoulders and I felt a love deeper then the ocean envelop me. I was reunited with so many people I had loved, people I had known, ancestors I had not, and I was happy. I felt peace.”

John smiled despite himself. It sounded so nice and he wanted to believe he could have that too. “Why'd you come back?”

“My son, I'm only visiting, I haven't yet decided to come back for good yet.”

“You mean be reincarnated?”

The man nodded.

“But why would anyone choose to come back to life when heaven feels so wonderful?”

“Because there is so much work to be done here.”

“Such as...?”

The man smiled and patted his arm. “That, is up to the individual to decide. But don't worry, one day you'll understand as well. In the meantime, are we going to scare up some fun this evening or will I be working alone?”

John smiled despite his condition and replied, “okay, I'll help you give them a fright.”

 

* * *

 

Alex looked up at the tall building with a soft kind of reverence. Inside five of the team's eight members were taking a tour of the building, listening to all the ghostly tales of sightings and phenomena, but he'd opted out. He already knew all the tales anyway, the perks of being the case manager. But he was also the team's resident skeptic, meaning he had a tendency to roll his eyes a lot during ghost tours. There was really only so many ways someone could tell you they'd seen a ghost and, to Alex, it was all the same bullshit. Instead he sat on babysitting duty with the team's two psychics, Peggy and Lafayette. His job right now was to make sure they didn't communicate with each other just yet about anything they may or may no be picking up; they could validate each other til the cows came home after the investigation but right now they were to keep mum about their impressions. Alex was the one who'd insisted on this practice, actually. It was a simple matter of keeping the power of suggestion from running amok, and the same reason he never liked going on the ghost tours. He didn't believe in ghosts and such but it didn't serve the group if the two psychics wound each other up before every investigation.

The younger woman paced slowly back and forth in front of the building, holding her hand aloft as if it would pick up a radio signal and transmit it into her head. Lafayette, on the other hand, was sitting leisurely on a bench, his back to the building as if he wasn't the least bit interested in it. Peggy eventually stalked over, shaking her head slowly so that the curls in her high ponytail swayed back and forth behind her. “I don't like it.” Alex couldn't help but smile. Peggy never liked a place they were about to investigate. “Laf, how can you sit with your back to this building? I don't like it. I know I say that a lot, but....I don't like it.”

Lafayette made a soft shushing noise and patted the air in front of him. Between the two, he was the more experienced with his abilities, so he claimed. He'd also just been with the group longer, back when they were still working out of their fearless leader's garage with limited equipment. “It is okay, _mon cheri_ ,” he said and patted the bench beside him. “Sit down, just be calm a moment.”

Peggy shook her head. “Noooope. Iiii don't like it, Iiii don't want my back to it,” she replied, but moved to stand in front of the bench all the same. She squinted at the building. “Guys, there's some—”

“Peggy!” Alex cut in with a mindful look. “Write it down if you need to, but remember that you're not to tell Laf anything before the investigation.”

She pouted, but pulled out a notepad and started scribbling onto it all the same. “That rule is so stupid,” she muttered.

“I don't think it is,” Alex replied, taking no insult from her words.

“Neither do I,” Lafayette added. He held out his hand to Peggy as she finished writing. “Here, mediate with me a while. It will make you feel better.”

“Fine,” she said, taking his hand and sitting down on the bench.

“You guys can't send each other mental text messages either,” Alex minded, but his smile betrayed it was a joke. Neither of them boasted of being able to read minds, tho sometimes Lafayette got scary close. Where Peggy claimed to see and hear those who'd passed on, Lafayette said he did more work with energy. He studied reiki and read auras for fun. He could tell when people were lying and when they were hiding emotions from him or even themselves. And he was was good at calming people down. He held Peggy's hands in his and after a moment her fidgeting stopped. Alex neglected to point out, for what would have been the umpteenth time if he had, that simple breathing exercises could calm anyone and that wasn't some magical energy manipulation. If it helped put Peggy at ease there was no sense in wasting his breath; he'd let her believe some harmless mumbo-jumbo if it didn't hurt her in the long run.

The door to the building opened and Angelica whistled to catch their attention, waving them over to signal the tour was over and they could come inside. “Time to go to work,” Alex said.

 

* * *

 

Staying out of the way of a bustling team of eight people as they hustled to and fro in a confined space where they couldn't see you was not an easy feat, yet John was doing alright. Tours came through with more people, to be sure, but they often kept everyone together and would stop at different places of interest, allowing John to get around them with minimal contact. These guys did not run on a scheduled track and that made it harder for John to judge where they were going to move and when. In general it was just easy to stand a few feet back as they ran wires, adjusted cameras or set up laser grids and a station they were calling home base. But he was fascinated by their activity and the equipment they were setting up and wanted a closer look. It wasn't rare for amateur ghost hunters to come through once in a while, looking to make contact mostly with the man John had befriended while here, but none of them had the amount of equipment this team possessed. He thought it was funny when teams rolled out so much technology because in all honestly it hardly mattered. If a spirit wanted to be seen it would find a way to be seen, camera present or not. If it didn't, well, no amount of cameras pointed at nothing would make it appear.

He'd split from his only friend to follow one team member that had caught his eye, a shorter man with brown hair in a loose ponytail wearing an over-sized green hoodie. John found him handsome with a scrap of goatee and an intense focus on his work. He was fiddling with a camera on a stand, pointing it down the hallway John often paced around when he was bored; apparently he did it so often that some of the staff were starting to pick up on his pacing. A glint of something drew John's attention to a silver ring on the man's left hand and he pouted a bit; the cute ones were always taken. He knew that was an absurdly silly thing to still worry about but with nothing else to fill his time with people watching was all he could do. A golden glittered number six stuck to the side of the camera and John wondered if the man had children and what his home life was like. The entire team interacted like a well oiled machine, and it was clear to John they were very close with one another. It was interesting to watch but it stung, serving as a reminder that he was an outsider looking in.

The man coughed and a small fit forced him to stop and cover his mouth for a moment until it subsided, checking his hand once more to make sure it was clean before he fished a thermos from his stomach pouch and took a sip of the contents inside. As John was wondering what that was about, a voice cackled from inside the same pocket.

“Hey, who has camera six? Over.”

He capped the thermos and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “I do, Aaron. What's up? Over.”

“Could you angle it up, just a bit? We're getting a lot of the floor at the end of the hallway and I just want to see more into that room. Over.”

“Rodger that.” He moved around to make the necessary adjustments and John made sure to stand out of his way. Of course he would hardly be phased if he ran through John, but for a ghost it was a little more disorientating to have someone step into the space you occupied. It wasn't like John would just be bumped to the side anymore, his entire existence blurred and disintegrated for a moment. It was like having the wind knocked out of you without even being shoved. But more then that, John didn't like doing it because of what else it could do. Sharing the same space as someone also siphoned off a bit of their energy into himself. Sharing the same space for more then just an accidental run through gave him a glimpse into who they were, shared their thoughts, and endangered the people he interacted with. The chains around John's neck did more then just bind him. They were tendrils the demonic force used to feed off of John and they could easily take from the living as well. If John siphoned off energy for himself, he also feed the beast he was attached too and it was just one more thing that could speed up his own turning.

“Hey Alex,” the same voice came through the walkie-talkie. “Is anyone else with you right now? Over.”

The man glance right at John, but he knew right away he was being looked past. “No, why? Over.”

“Could you step to your left please?” Alex did as asked and John watched with a slightly piqued interest. “The camera is picking up some kind of shadow to your right, Alex. Can you advise as to what that is? Over.”

Again Alex looked around himself and the area that John was standing in. “Aaron, I don't see any shadows out of place here, least of all any to my right. Over.”

John tilted his head. He wasn't trying to be seen yet. He turned, thinking his friend had sneaked down the hallway without alerting him, and screamed at the black void of eyes that stared back at him. In his haste to move away John fell through Alex and landed behind the equipment he was setting up, his mind reeling for a moment from the exchange. He quickly scrambled to get to his feet and away from the demon, stopping only once he realized he wasn't being chased or dragged back by his chain. The demon grinned, a warped smile that seemed too big for it's face. It began to laugh.

John felt a growing sense of panic trickling through him. This was the lesser of the two demons he had dealt with, a soul that was in-between what John was and what he could become. Sometimes it dragged John kicking and screaming to the Master, sometimes it took its delight in torturing John for it's own amusement, and sometimes, rarely but sometimes, John saw it as the human it had once been. He'd learned that it was at it's most dangerous in those times because, like John, he was suffering too and it was hard for John to be mad when they were both in the same boat. But he would turn on a whim back into the dark creature and sometimes John wondered if the crying man wasn't just a lure to make John approach willingly.

The demon didn't approach this time, and didn't grab at John's chain. It simply stood there, smiling at John in a way that he knew couldn't be good.

“Alright, well, I'll check it out here myself in a moment. Angelica wants to get started so go ahead and head back to home base. Over.”

“Roger that,” Alex said into his walkie-talkie. John instinctively tried to grab his arm to keep the man from walking through the demon as he made his way back down the hallway, but of course it did nothing. Oblivious, Alex passed through the danger unfazed and headed on his way, leaving John to stand off with the demonic entity by himself.

John backed down the hallway slowly, peeking over his shoulder every once and again to make sure the Master wasn't flanking him. He could out run or hide from the lesser demon, sometimes, but that was all pointless if the Master got involved. The chain defaulted back to it, after all.

He rounded the corner at the other end of the hallway and made a break for it. The building wasn't that big, but by now he knew every nook and cranny of it and which way to go to avoid running into people or things he would rather avoid. The appearance of the demon had unnerved him, but it wasn't that unusual to see at least the lesser one sulking in the shadows while people did investigations on the building. For the most part tho, the demons stayed away from paranormal investigators. They didn't approach and they rarely spoke. John had noted some years ago that their behavior seemed predatory, like a big cat stalking a heard, looking for the weakest member to pick off. He often wondered what it was about him that had been appealing so many years ago. But he wasn't even sure when they had found him or how long they had stalked him before moving in.

Seeing no one else around, and nothing following him, John decided to head back to the office room the team had set up in for the night. He figured his friend would have made his way that way anyhow and they could meet up and discuss what they wanted to do. He was feeling a bit uneasy with proceeding to scare the investigators for a laugh, the demon's sudden and deliberate appearance putting him off. He was about to enter the room when someone stepped in front of him, barring his way.

“Oh no you don't,” she said, “not with that chain around your neck.”

“Eh-excuse me?” John said. After a moment his mind caught up and he realized what was going on.

The woman standing before him was beautiful, despite his inclinations he couldn't deny that. Full red lips and a dress to match that showed off her curves with dark eyes and even darker hair. She drew his attention away from anyone else and for a moment John felt compelled to flee from her dominate stance blocking the doorway. The appearance of the man that haunted the building with him and the demons calmed her. “Maria,” he said, “This is John Laurens. My friend I was telling you about.”

She eyed him wearily. “You didn't tell me he was bound to a demon.”

“I said he needed a bit of help, didn't I?”

“That's a lot more complicated then just bringing him into the light.” She turned to face him again. “Can you even see the light anymore, lost one?” John glanced up, and sighed. No, he couldn't. He hadn't been able to see the light for years now. She shook her head. “You should know that a soul who can't see the light anymore would need a full crossing ritual at least. My girl didn't come prepared for this. You said there's two demons? She hasn't even squared off against one yet.”

“Perhaps the man then...?”

“I don't work with Lafayette, and anyway he doesn't hear us as well as Peggy does, who's still learning as it is.”

John looked past the two at the collection of people in the room as the spirits talked among themselves. The eight living people stood in a circle holding hands, the older of the two women present reciting something like poetry. But his attention was focused more on Alex, the man he'd been following. He looked bored, like standing and holding hands with his friends was some kind of chore. John had the strongest urge to approach him and let him know it was okay to step away from the group, he knew he could do it if he just got close enough...

“STAY OUT!!”

John was forcefully pushed from the room, Maria's voice booming in his ears. Some kind of resonance disrupted his perception and for a moment he sank to the floor just trying to recollect himself. His body hurt in a way that was different then the torture he was used to feeling. Like a dull ache of a melancholy memory he'd long forgotten; softer, but crippling all the same.

“He's already turning.”

“Then that's all the more reason your girl needs to help him. He's nowhere near as bad as the other two, they might be able to save him.”

“And draw the attention of the demons to my Charge? Are you mad?”

“So you would leave him to turn into one of them then?”

“Breaking the bond a demon possesses on a soul is no easy task.”

“The better to break him free now, while he still has control of himself before he starts losing himself to darkness.”

John could see his friend and the woman arguing a few feet away from him, he could understand their words. He was struggling to his feet when she stopped him cold.

“He's already lost himself to the darkness. He's bound to a demon and I cannot just pull him away from that. I'm sorry.”

The words hung in the air, a damnation that John knew was true and yet it still didn't stop his eyes from filling with tears. He _was_ a demon too. Maybe not yet, maybe not for many years to come, but bound to such a creature his fate was nearly inevitable. Yet he'd always hoped maybe, just maybe, if he held on or if he resisted he'd find a away out. To hear someone say it so finally smashed what little hope he'd had. He felt it flickering out inside him. Maybe then he should just give in, become then the dark creature that he ran from. He could see the stretch of chain laid out before him, an inky blackness leaking toward him from it, and for a moment he closed his eyes and thought maybe if he gave in this time it wouldn't hurt.

_**YOU WANT TO DIE.** _

He opened his eyes again, and screamed, “NO!!” as loud as he could. The creeping blackness halted, but did not retreat. “ _NO!!_ ” he screamed again and it wavered, then began to back away. The unchained souls watched in bemusement as John pulled more chain toward him, getting to his feet and protesting yet again. He had given in to that thought once. He had sliced open his own neck and let himself bleed out on the very back steps of this building. His blood soaked into the ground outside, into the clothes he'd been wearing, it had spilled from him in a rush he couldn't have stopped if he had wanted to then and he had been damned for it. He had listened to the darkness once, he was swallowed by it all the time now, but he would not just roll over and be it's victim anymore. He screamed again, chasing the darkness away, willing it to relinquish it's hold on him and let him be free of the hell he had known for so long. He jerked on the chain around his neck, he jerked on it with such force that his head was jerked with it and choked himself against the collar that would not budge. He would not give in to that darkness. He would never listen to it again, would never do it's bidding. He would not become the beast he feared. John jerked and jerked and jerked.

The chain remained in place.

Hands took hold of his own frantically yanking fists and a soft shushing noise bade him to stop. He looked up, the clear blue eyes of the man who had been his only friend for so long gazed upon him worriedly and he reached to cup John's face brushing aside tears of frustration. The smell of white cinquefoil flowers, ink, and linen enveloped him, the scents this man most loved in his living life strong in his own desire to help. John allowed him to hold his hands and comfort him, but it seemed to be of little use. What good were soft words and the scent of delicate roses in the face of such a harsh truth such as the one John faced?

The woman stepped closer to them, a gentle look of awe on her face. “You're fighting it,” she stated, seeming surprised by John's actions.

“I don't want to become the thing that killed me,” John sobbed. “It's not fair, I didn't know what I was doing...it tricked me...it's not fair...”

“The oldest sister,” Maria started, hesitantly. “She knows of demons. Not everything, but enough. If we can get the demons to show themselves to the team then she can confirm what they are to her sister Angelica and maybe they, along with their other sister Eliza, can perform a cleansing and crossing ritual. I cannot promise that they will help however. They've never had to cross anything so dark to the other side before, and they're far more proficient in shielding and preventing things from coming home with them. And they live some distance away. I can't even promise they would be interested in coming back here if they don't catch any evidence of your existence.”

“You cannot talk to the girl?”

Maria shook her head. “If the other members of the team cannot reasonably say they saw you themselves, they won't return.”

John wiped at his face, feeling drained after his bout of emotion. No doubt on the other end of the chain two happy demons were revealing in his anguish. Still he fixed his gaze of the woman standing before him, a new determination burning in him now. “I just have to convince the team that I'm here and I might have a chance of getting help? Well then, let's make sure that they know I'm right here.”

 

**END CHAPTER 1**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought I would have had two more chapters for this story up by now, but that's just exactly what I mean by I try to do the writing thing and then just don't. I am currently planning on trying to update once a month from here on out, but we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Fun fact, Historical!John Laurens died on August 27, 1782, if you didn't already know that, there ya go. It felt appropriate to update at least this story today.
> 
> Raise a glass and tell the story of tonight.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Alex yawned and tried not to make a show of it. God, he loved Angelica but he wished she would hurry up with her blessing circle. Sitting mostly alone in the dark all night talking in whispers to the idea of things that go bump in the night was already dull enough and he really, _really_ didn't think any of this stuff was necessary. Asking some imaginary god for protection from some shadows in the night, ooooh, very mystical, much magic. The smoke from the sage was aggravating his throat. He tried not to cough because if he did he would have to let go of someone's hand and then Angelica would lose her shit with him. Something about not breaking the circle's energy or something, blah, blah, blah.

A squeeze of his right hand made him look over at his younger sister-in-law but her face was turned away from him and back toward the door to the room. He leaned in and asked in a hushed little whisper, “what's wrong?”

Dark curls of hair bounced with a shake of her head. “Voices,” she whispered back. “Two, maybe three. Woman, man...” She squeezed his hand again. “Something's wrong.”

He squeezed her hand back. “Hey, it'll be okay. We're in this together, alright?”

She looked back at him with worried eyes. “Don't go anywhere by yourself tonight, okay?”

With a slight grin he shifted his weight. “Even the bathroom?” he teased. He meant it as a joke but in thinking about the concept of peeing it was as if his body suddenly remembered that it needed to fill the bladder up and remind him of the chore that was emptying it.

“Take Aaron or Lafayette with you.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, trying not to chuckle too loudly or think of how much tea he'd guzzled down.

“Okay, and what did you two have to add?” Angelica's voice called to them and Alex sheepishly grinned as everyone's eyes turned to him and Peggy. “Out with it then, let's hear it.”

“Uhh, and dear god, grant me the serenity to accept stupid people the way they are, courage to maintain my self-control and the wisdom to know that if I act recklessly I'll likely end up in jail,” Alex responded. “There, that's how prayer works, right?” To his left he felt George double over, shaking slightly from silent laughter. Chuckles ran around the rest of the group.

“Oh, that's a little like mine,” Benjamin said. “Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked, the good fortune to run into the ones that I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference!”

Angelica's face showed she was not that impressed, but the giggles from the others couldn't be argued with. She shook her head and continued on, “If there be any evil spirits here, I ask the Lord and Lady to shield us from the worst of their negativity. Allow them only to say their peace on our equipment, and show us in what ways we may best help them, but allow no harm to come to us while on our investigation...”

Alex bounced in place and silently prayed she wouldn't keep them too much longer.

 

* * *

 

John hovered close to the two unchained spirits and kept an eye out for any moving shadows. Nothing had come to drag him back to the Master yet, but his earlier outburst of emotion made him worried the beast had awoken from it's slumber. That's usually how it worked, if John got too angry or sad or scared it would come find him and feed off his feelings, using them as fuel to reek havoc in the environment, stirring up the emotions of the living to perpetuate it's own dark amusements.

The sudden movements of the group in front of him drew his attention as they finally broke and began discussing their plans for investigating throughout the night. The woman in red, she had told him her name was Maria, led him over to the two oldest males in the group. “This is their leader, George,” she said, pointing to a clean shaven man with a clear voice that commanded respect. “The bad news is that he's not as perceptive as Peggy or Lafayette in perceiving us, but the good news is that he's open to being receptive of us.”

“What do you mean?” John asked. “Like, can he see us or not?”

“Peggy,” Maria called, as if she might have been trying to get the woman's attention. The young woman looked up and right at them then, but frowned and squinted some. George didn't even seemed phased by the call despite that they were standing right next to him. “She can see and hear me when I need her too,” Maria explained and waved her hand. Peggy nodded some and resumed what she was doing then. “But like I said, convincing her or Lafayette won't be enough. If you convince George however, that's another matter. He has the final say in what the group does.”

“So like knock on some walls, whisper his name in his ear, do the orb thing?”

Maria gave him a skeptical look. “No, you'll need to go bigger then basic.”

“What's bigger then basic?”

“Can you levitate something? Make yourself into an apparition?” John hesitantly shook his head. “Speak clearly into recording devices? _Anything_ like that?” Again, John shook his head and Maria sighed. “Okay well, you're gunna have to learn. At least tell me you know how to draw from inhuman energy sources.”

“I understand the concept of how to do that,” he said. “But I haven't really practiced. It's difficult.”

The woman shook her head and turned to pace away from him for a moment, muttering to herself. John turned his gaze to the floor, momentarily doubting himself. “Hey, don't worry about it too much,” the other man in period clothes said, “There will be other paranormal groups to come along. If we don't catch the attention of this one we can practice more to be ready for the next.”

“I'm afraid I might run out of time before that happens,” John replied. He wrapped the chain around his hands, tangling his fingers in it. It ran off into the darkness, disappearing out the door and if he looked to long at the other end of it sometimes he could swear that darkness was breathing. The man pulled him to the side just as George walked right through where John had been standing.

John watched as he approached the guy he'd been following as the team set up, addressing the younger male as Alexander and telling him they would be paired off for the evening. John smiled a little bit, happy to know he could people watch the cute guy in the green hoodie for a bit longer.

“He's handsome, isn't he?”

“What?” John said, turning toward the other male spirit.

“How do the kids these days say it? Is it 'I'd tap that ass'?”

“How do you...I didn't think you knew that was a thing in your day.”

The other male chuckled. “Oh my dear boy, it wasn't as openly talked about then as it has become now, but it existed. Love is love.”

“I thought the bible had more sway in your mindset.”

“Love is patient and kind, does not envy, does not boast and is not proud. It is not rude or self-seeking, nor easily angered. It keeps no records of wrongs. It does not delight in evil but it rejoices in truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. Love never fails. Corinthians 13:4-8A; Good message for the world, and you'll note that it doesn't say a thing about gender.”

“Yeah, but other passages do.”

“Man shall not lie with another male as he does with a woman, Leviticus 18:22?” The man shrugged. “Just sounds like you shouldn't ask the lady folk to let you stick it in her arse to me.”

John laughed. “Oh boy, I know a pastor down in South Carolina who would lose his mind if he heard you say that.” His smile faded some. “It's also rather depressing that I'm only realizing this all now.”

“Well, there's always the next lifetime.”

“Next lifetime,” John repeated, looking at the man in the green hoodie.

“Okay,” Maria said as she approached again. “I've let Peggy know that you're here. If you can't convince George that you're real and need help I'll let you talk to my girl in a last ditch effort to get the sisters interested. But try to convince George first. Having the whole team on board will be far better then just my girl alone.”

John nodded. “I understand. I'll try my best, but just in case it's not enough...” He looked to the man who had been his friend and companion for the last three years and smiled some. “Thank you, for even giving me this opportunity.”

Maria nodded at him. “Well....just don't throw away your shot.”

 

* * *

 

“Alexander and George in the teller room, 8:45pm on Saturday September 13th, first national bank of America,” Alex spoke to the device in his hand. “Is there anyone here that would like to speak with us?” George eased himself into a chair and set his own equipment on a counter-top. Alex, ever eager, decided to walk a slow circuit around the perimeter of the room. “If you could, please give us a sign of your presence.”

“The device Alex has got there in his hands is called a digital recorder,” George said into the dark room. “If you speak really clearly into it then we should be able to hear you when we play it back. I also have this niffty little device here, called an EMF reader, and when you touch it the lights on the front should light up.”

“You can also touch or hit me,” Alex added. Even though George said nothing, he knew the man's eyes had found their way into staring at him in the dark. “But I would appreciate if you used one of the devices.”

“Atta boy,” he heard George mutter under his breath and Alex smirked. In the five years that he'd been going on investigations and the six that he'd been studying the paranormal with Lafayette, he'd never once had an encounter where something had physically touched him. Lafayette had claimed he had been, so had Peggy and even her sisters Eliza and Angelica for that matter, but nothing had ever bothered him or any of the other, as he secretly put it, 'more locigally minded' members. Even though he counted his adoptive father among those of the logically minded, George still didn't like the idea of challenging what couldn't be seen to come and inflict harm. “Just because they don't go for the jugular doesn't mean you should just offer yours to them,” he'd told Alex on numerous occasions.

“Hey,” Alex said into the dark, turning back to where George sat. “You ever think ghosts of long ago think of how strange the world has gotten now? Like, they really didn't have the technologies we have today back in the 1800's; you think the founder of this place would be weirded out by all these things?”

“ _Actually, I find them quite interesting_ ,” the unchained male spirit said right into Alex's device. He turned and gave John a smirk. “Let's see if he picks that up.”

“I dunno son, but—” George started to say, yet stopped when the lights on his EMF reader light up. “Oh! We might have found someone's interest.” John smiled with a bit of relief as he withdrew his hand from the device. “If there's a spirit here who would like to speak with us, can you make this device light up again?” John waved his hand through the device again, and the lights flickered for him once more. “Can you do that for me one more time? Can you show me you can hold the lights on for a minute?” Again, John passed his hand through the device but this time he gritted his teeth to hold it there. The sensation of manipulating electrical devices was different then sharing space with the living; it gave him a weird kind if vibrational feeling that started wherever he connected with the device and slowly it spread through the rest of his spirit. If he held it to long it would rip him apart but it also gave him a weird kind of power rush, like suddenly he felt strong enough to manifest an almost corporal form again through sheer willpower alone.

“Thank you,” George said as the lights dimmed again and Alex walked closer to get a better look. “Would you be willing to answer some questions for us?” It was a moment before the EMF light up again. “Okay, can you make the lights flash once for yes and twice for no?” The lights flashed once. “Can you show me what a no would be?” John flashed the lights twice by waving his hand through the device twice.

“Are you the man who founded this place?” Alex asked. John looked at his friend who shrugged.

“There will be other investigators,” he told John. “I visit enough, I don't need to talk to them.”

John smiled ruefully at him. “Thank you,” he replied, and flashed the lights for no.

“That's interesting,” Alex muttered after the response. “That's a no response.”

“Maybe someone who used the bank often back in the day?” George asked. Again the lights flashed for no.

“Someone who built the bank?” Alex asked. Yet again, they received a no response.

“The kid who died here three years ago?” George asked and before Alex could ask what he meant the lights light up and stayed on. “I think we have a winner.”

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” John said as he withdrew his hand and shook it out.

“What kid died here?” Alex asked.

“They talked briefly about it during the tour you didn't come on,” George explained. “Some 20-year-old kid was found dead on the back steps. He had bruises and Red Death lacerations all over his body but that's not what killed him; the murder weapon was a knife with only his fingerprints all over it, jammed into his neck. Coroner ruled it a suicide, said the kid must've been seriously mentally ill to be cutting into himself like that.” John felt anger well inside him. No! He was NOT mentally ill! He was about to start frantically flashing the lights when the next spoken words silenced him; “They notified his parents and they basically confirmed he had some mental issues, but they never specified what kind. Must've had some falling out with them, because they wouldn't accept his ashes.”

John felt his heart sink. He knew his body had been cremated, the only disposal that awaited all those inflicted with The Red Death, even though John had never been diagnosed. He knew his parents hadn't approved of him, that's why he'd been so far from home to begin with. But he'd never gone back to see his family after his death. He knew what they thought of him but it still hurt to know they'd write him off like that. No, no he hadn't been mentally ill; he hadn't even been sick with The Red Death. He had thought he was, mentally ill that was. He had listened to the voices whispering in his head because he thought it had come from within him only it hadn't; he'd been tricked and his life had been stolen from him.

“That's awful,” Alex whispered, feeling his own heart sink. He could only imagine what that boy must have been going through, suffering a disease that Alex was all too familiar with. “I know Red Death lacerations are some of the more severe symptoms to deal with, but to decide you'd rather be dead then live with them...Can you imagine being so lost to reality that you think death would be a better solution to whatever you're going through? Or do you think he was even aware that he was killing himself? Like, was something else in his head that made him think he was doing something to help and then the blade just...what, slipped into an artery?”

“Cut his jugular right open. They were told he was dead within a few minutes of doing it, hours before the head manager came in and found him.”

“My god.....poor guy...”

John felt a hand rest itself on his shoulder and give a squeeze. He wiped at the tears in his eyes and turned to look up, thinking he'd see his friend, and screamed when the black eyed face of the Master leered down at him. John scrambled to get away, but he was jerked back by his chain and lifted by the collar around his neck. He kicked frantically and clawed at the hand hoisting him, feeling his strength drain and his vision blur as his energy was sucked away. “What are you doing here, my pet?” the Master asked him, his voice deep and sinister. “Trying to make a connection with the living? You know, you're going about it all wrong.”

“No,” John croaked out and started kicking harder, to no avail. The demon laughed mockingly.

“Here, allow me to help you get inside his head.”

John was being swallowed by the sea. He fought to keep his head above violent trashes of salt water, where wind howled and rain assaulted him. Lighting blinded him, thunder roared and reverberated around him with each crack and strike of it's bright counterpart. People were screaming and somehow he knew they were dying. A building crumbled before him, surrendering to the storm that also swept him away.

 

* * *

 

Alex almost gasped, feeling like he'd been punched so hard in the gut his breath was knocked right out of him. He doubled over in pain, and felt something tear across his back. George was beside him in an instant and asking him what was wrong, but Alex couldn't find the breath to answer. He found it hard to breathe, like something was covering his mouth, preventing him from taking a breath. His mind raced frantically as the calls of the other male faded and he could swear he felt his throat and nose filling up with water. Flashbacks of a hurricane filled his mind and he felt the panic they brought crash over him in waves, each one more strangling then the next.

His head lulled to the side, bumping into something solid, his feet swept out from under him, and he was carried away. His hands grabbed for something solid and found something that felt familiar; moving, noisy, contorting. He could feel that he was being carried, could see George's worried face he was holding, the surroundings changing behind him. Alex coughed, and then he took a deep, staggering breath. Then another one. He could hear his father's voice again, frantic yet commanding; he didn't understand why he looked so scared, why he was demanding he keep breathing, or that Aaron just get in the driver's seat and get them to a hospital. Why did they need to go to a hospital? What was wrong?

“Alex?” George was saying to him then. “Alex, Alex, stay with me now, stay breathing, okay? Keep breathing, that's it, son, just keep breathing.” He felt him wipe at his face, wipe away something wet and that made his breath wheeze and gurgle. “Keep breathing.....keep breathing, son, keep breathing, Alex...”

“Dad?” Alex said, finding his voice low and fearful. Nothing scared his father. Nothing in this world ever shook his father's composed and perfectly polished demeanor of self-control, and yet as Alex looked at him now he saw him openly weeping and the sight unnerved him. “Dad, what's wrong? What's going on?”

“Oh god,” George sobbed and pulled him close for a hug. “Oh my god, Alex.” He pulled away again, wiped at his wet face with a shaking hand. “Alex, okay, okay listen...can you tell me where you are? Do you know what happened?”

He looked around, seeing the selective lights flash by, feeling the familiar rocking. “Am I in the van?” he asked as George nodded. “I don't know why I'm in the van, Dad....”

“You started throwing up blood,” George said. “It looked like you couldn't breath for a minute. We're taking you to the hospital.”

“What?” Alex said, touching his face. His hand came back with the distinct color of crimson on it. “H-how? What?”

George shushed him, brushing back the loose strands of his hair. “It's okay. We're getting you to the hospital. You're going to be fine, just relax, okay?”

“How's he doing back there?” Alex heard Aaron call.

“I'm fine,” Alex answered, trying to sit up. “Stop the car, pull over.”

“Do not pull over, Aaron. You keep driving,” George commanded.

“Yes sir,” Aaron replied.

“Dad, I'm fine now. You're overreacting.”

“No, I'm not. You're going to the hospital.”

“I'm not a kid anymore, stop the car.”

“Do not stop this car. Alex, you're going to the hospital and that's final.”

“George, for fuck's sake I'm a grown man and I can make my own decisions about my life, now stop the damn car!”

“Goddamn it Alex!” His father grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little. “I don't give a shit if you feel like you could single handedly fight off the entire British navy by yourself right now, you were coughing up blood and not breathing a minute ago and I am not losing another son tonight!” George screamed and for a moment the cabin of the vehicle when dead silent. Alex stared at his father for a moment, even more shocked when the man pulled him into another hug and cried into his shoulder. “Just...humor me, goddamnit. I love you Alexander.”

“Okay,” Alex replied, his voice small once more. He hugged his father and rubbed his back. “Bet ya dollars to donuts they won't find anything tho.” A broken kind of chuckle came from the older man as he pulled away and kissed Alex's forehead.

“I just want you to get checked out, okay? That would be enough.”

Alex nodded. “Sure pops. Whatever you say.”

 

**END CHAPTER 2**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had to force myself to sit down and write this chapter and that generally means I'm starting to get tired of the story. I also had my computer eat a lot of the work I had put into it last month, soooooo....boooo. We'll see if it picks up tho.
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, look, I haven't abandoned this story yet. That's good.
> 
> So a few quick things to note, I basically forgot what the hell I was doing for a moment? Like I had NO PLAN for Chapter 3 what-so-ever, and in my panic I just started....world building? And I knew Alex was going to be kinda sickly, buuuuuut...then my brain just grabbed an idea and ran with it. The thing is, the way I talk about it in this chapter kinda seems like it just comes out of nowhere, ~~because it literally wasn't a part of my original plans haha,~~ so in an effort to foreshadow some things, I actually went back into the other chapters and made some minor changes. Nothing big, just some slight tweaking of dialog and thought processes for some characters so that you can get a better sense of what they've been dealing with. 
> 
> My primary focus is on my other fic right now, so updates for this one are not on a set schedule. But this gave me a very productive break from banging my head against a wall trying to get everyone to behave in said other fic and I think I need to go back to bouncing between separate worlds where these characters behave very differently. We'll see what happens....

**Chapter 3:**

Alex took slow deep breaths and tried not to let his distress show on his face. He wished the phlebotomist would hurry the fuck up with her work; for fuck's sake how much blood did they need to take to run a few damn tests?! He was fine. He told himself he was fine, like a mantra in his head. He had to be fine because the alternative was....well, not good.

They'd been sitting in the hospital for an hour. God, how Alex hated hospitals. He'd hated them ever since he was nine, and his mother had first gotten sick. He hated sitting in the waiting rooms like he had done for hours when he was 10 and his father just left him there and never came back. He hated sitting in the exam rooms they took you in to poke and prod you, like they'd done when he was diagnosed just before his 12th birthday with the same disease his mother had. And he hated, _**hated**_ , laying in the beds the way he had been when he woke up to the alarms of machines sounding off that his mother was coding in the bed next to him just three months later. He had thought he was going to die in that same room when he was a boy. He honestly thought he wouldn't live past 20, and surrounded by death he had imagined it so much it felt just like all the other memories he had of that place; real and haunting. He wondered if he would be asleep for it, if he'd even see it coming. Sometimes, laying awake at night in the room with several other patients sick with the same disease he had, he swore he had seen death walking through the halls, deciding who would be next on it's long list of victims.

They had called it The Red Death, the disease that had taken his mother. Named it after some fictional plague from an Edgar Allen Poe story, but for the victims that had lived through it, including Alex himself, it had been all too frighteningly real. It would start with flu like symptoms, then came the constant pain, and then the red lacerations on the skin. As soon as victims would begin to cough up blood they had very little time left. They bled from their nose and mouth until they couldn't breathe anymore and choked, drowned in a pool of their own fluids. It was gruesome to watch, and Alex had seen it happen too many times laying in a hospital bed waiting for his turn to die.

By sheer dumb luck a doctor had found a cure, pulled it right out of his own mother's corpse in fact. Some people told him that this was the plan all along, that she had given up her life to save him, that it was a mother's love for her child that protected him from the same fate and helped save thousands of lives across the nation, but all Alex heard was bullshit. It was all bullshit to him. His mother hadn't died to save him, she had just died. She was dead. So many lives were lost before a cure was found, the epidemic had spread so far before being brought to it's knees by vaccinations that pushed it near extinction; Alex's mother had just been one of it's last victims. That's all.

He felt a hand brush the hair from his forehead and he looked over to see George trying to smile reassuringly at him. Alex smiled back, tho he was sure he didn't look that much more reassuring.

After his mother had passed away, and his father still couldn't be found, a nurse had taken to caring for him as if he were her own child. When he was cured, and about to be released into the foster system since he was only 13 and had no family to speak of anymore, she'd taken him home with her. And that's when Alex had met her husband and became the son of Martha and George Washington. They adopted him and doted on him but Alex wasn't a stupid child. A month into the arrangement he'd asked about the family portrait hanging by the stairs, the one with the Washingtons and the boy that looked just like the two of them and couldn't have been much older then Alex himself. He'd said he wanted to meet him, and genuinely Alex had meant that. He figured as it was summer, the other child had to have been away at a relative's somewhere and would return for school, but instead they'd taken him to a graveyard and explained that their son was one of the many victims of The Red Death disease.

Alex's relationship with the Washingtons had from then on always been....well, a little strained. It became glaringly apparent that they were using him to deal with the loss of their biological child, and while Alex had always felt true compassion for their unimaginable pain, sometimes he had to holler just to be heard that he was not, in fact, their dead son. But he could understand that George cared for him, that seeing Alex cough up blood and swoon to the side unable to draw in breath must've absolutely terrified the man. After all, these were the final performances of The Red Death before it drew the curtain closed on life. Yet Alex was breathing fine now, the blood had stopped coming up. He felt a little dizzy, sure. But that kind of thing was to be expected when you feinted....right?

Alex felt the taste of copper fill the back of his throat and he made the mistake of looking over to the arm with a needle jammed deeply into the vein in the bend of his elbow. The sight alone made him want to pass out again and he couldn't help the involuntary noise of discomfort he made, but he did note what he expected to see; that they were feeding him a saline mixture to offset how much blood had been drawn. So apparently they weren't just going to do a few little tests, George was going to have them do ALL the tests.

“How you doing, son?” he heard his father ask and Alex rolled his head back to the safe sight of the man's almost not-that-scared face.

“Almost done, right?” Alex said, trying not to let his voice tremble. “You're still gunna take me out for Arby's afterwards, right?” he asked, and felt better when he saw George actually smile. “It's tradition, after all.”

“It is tradition,” George agreed, “tho we might be hard pressed to find one open this late at night.”

“The one up on Aramingo Ave is open late,” the phlebotomist said. “We send someone for a food run all the time and even if you don't make it in time to eat in the lobby, the drive through is open 24 hours. And it's only 12 minutes away.”

“Well there you go,” George said. “I guess we'll get you Arby's.”

“Is it terrible that I really just want to get back to the investigation?” Alex asked. “Like, we've already wasted so much time here, and I don't want to waste the whole night...”

“Ben already took care of it. The museum has agreed to let us run the equipment overnight and we can return tomorrow to do an investigation proper.”

“Oh, what are you investigating?” the nurse asked.

“We're studying whether or not life as we know it transcends beyond the veil that separates us from the other side and how we might best be able to observe that which most people cannot perceive with the naked eye alone,” Alex told her.

“We hunt ghosts,” George replied to her confused look at Alexander's choice of words.

“Oh! You're paranormal investigators!” she brightened. “That's so cool! Don't you ever get, like, scared tho?”

“No,” Alex said right as George replied, “Yes.” They exchanged looks between them.

“My girlfriend likes to watch those ghost hunting shows,” the nurse went on. “Now she thinks our attic is haunted by some soldier from the revolutionary war, haha. You think she might be right?”

“Not likely,” Alex immediately put in. “Most of the time things that people think are paranormal in nature are little more then over active imaginations and mundane things people just didn't consider before calling us. Pipes banging or faulty wiring account for 90% of the so called mysterious knocks and flickering lights people take as hard evidence of ghosts without bothering to investigate further. Also consider, why in the world would a revolutionary era soldier be prowling around in the attic of your house?”

“Well, the house IS pretty old...” the nurse said. “Like, 100 years or so....”

“That's still not revolutionary era,” Alex countered. “Hell, 100 years isn't even civil war era. Again, why would a soldier of either of those time frames have any reason to haunt your house?”

“Maybe it's the land?”

“Then there should be no reason for this imagined soldier to be haunting the attic of a house that he never lived to see. Attics and unfinished basements are both creepy places to those with over active imaginations, granted, but there is nothing inherently haunted about them except in the minds of those who just choose to believe in those things without any evidence to support their claims beyond, 'well, it gives me the heebie-jeebies, so therefore it MUST be haunted.' Your beliefs are founded on lies and as soon as you'd apply some basic logic to dispel the fear you'd see those very beliefs crumble before your eyes.”

“But she said her friend can talk to spirits an—”

“What is her friend's credentials? Has anyone actually verified anything her friend has claimed to sense of these so called spirits or do they just take her at face value?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. You have a girlfriend who is scared of things that go bump in the night because it's dark and she watched one too many horror movies before bed and wound herself up and then a friend who came through and told her what she wanted to hear, I assume in an effort to calm her but it sounds like it didn't exactly help. There's nothing paranormal in your house. I rest this case,” Alex said.

“You haven't even been to our house,” the nurse said sullenly. “How can you be so sure you're right?”

“Listen, if you would like us to come investigate your house, we'd be honored to,” George said, trying to smooth over the hurt feelings Alex had caused. “And please don't mind my son, he's just cranky cuz he's got a needle jammed into his arm.” At that he gave Alex a LOOK as if to say 'now tell her you're sorry.'

“I'm sorry you find my blunt manner of speaking about such things abrasive, but I'm not going to sugar coat the truth for you,” Alex replied.

“So I take it you're the one in the group who doesn't believe in ghosts then?” the phlebotomist asked.

Alex's eyes flicked to the door left ajar where he could have swore he just saw the lurking shadow of death slink past, making it's rounds in the clinic and trying to decide who on it's long list would be checked off tonight.

“I never said I didn't believe in ghosts,” he replied. “I just deal in facts.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, how'd it go?” Aaron asked as George and Alex were released back into the waiting room.

“He's probably fine,” George said, giving Alex a side hug and squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “He was well enough to insult the nurse while she took his blood.”

“They took like a pint of blood,” Alex grouched. “And they didn't even give me a cookie or a sticker.”

Aaron laughed some. “Yep, sounds like our little Alex.”

“They aren't keeping me because whatever was wrong with me seems to have passed now. Sooo...” Alex shrugged. “Guess they're gunna test for everything under the sun and get back to us if they find anything.”

“When we get home, you need to set up an appointment with your doctor to do the same thing,” George told him.

“Dad, I'm _fine_ ,” Alex sighed like an exasperated teen. “And I'm telling you, they aren't gunna find anything. Nothing is wrong. Nothing that we don't already know.”

“People don't usually cough up blood and forget how to breath, Alex,” Aaron replied.

“Sometimes they do if they survived The Red Death,” Alex replied. He watched the calm little smile Aaron almost always wore fall right off his face as he took a step away from Alex before he composed himself. Aaron hadn't been a part of his life when he was a teen, he often forgot that Alex had lived trough the carnage of the sickness that had massacred of hundreds of thousands in their nation. In fact, a lot of people liked to pretend that little nightmare of history was over now and couldn't hurt them, until they were reminded that people like Alex existed and still roamed around. Then Alex got the wonderful experience of finding out whether they were a close minded bigot who thought everyone like him needed to be round up and kept far, far away from anyone else, you know, “just in case the sickness came back.”

It wasn't going to come back though, not through Alex. There was still ongoing research about the aftereffects those who had survived the disease carried with them, a laundry list of symptoms people still reported experiencing from time to time. It had long since been made very clear to the public that the exhibition of most of the symptoms was not cause for alarm, as any survivor of The Red Death was no longer a carrier for the disease and did not pass any symptom on to those without them, yet there was still a deep rooted fear people had for anyone when they saw someone cough up their own blood.

But Alex was lucky, he seemed to only be prone to nose bleeds and the occasional asthma spell; although when they both hit him at the same time such as tonight it could be alarming, when experienced on their own they were a minor inconvenience at best. Some people still had splotchy red marks all over their skin that marked them as survivors or they still got the lacerations from time to time and those could last for days or months. Some even still experienced the same full body pain that was like a thousand needles digging into every inch of skin. No one yet had an answer for why someone got any symptoms at all once they were cured, or why one person got certain symptoms while the person that had been in the bed next to them got a different set. A, thankfully small, group of religious nutcases were trying to preach that the people who had surviced The Red Death were still some kind ot unclean, that people like Alex who still exhibited symptoms ought to be rounded up and kept away from the rest of society. They believed it was only a matter of time before Alex would exhibit what scientists and doctors were now calling Stigmata.

Stigmata symptoms were a death sentence. There was no way to hide them, they wouldn't stop once started and once you were found out to have them you _were_ taken away and placed in quarantine and left to die. Stigmata was contagious, anyone who made direct skin-to-skin contact with a person experiencing Stigmata was taken away with them. Whole families were just rounded up and taken to the sanatoriums built to house those who would now bleed and bleed and bleed, from the pores of their body until eventually there was nothing left for them to bleed out. Alex had read it was a very slow way to die, and not how he intended to go out.

In his morbid curiosity to understand as much as he could about the disease that his mother helped cure in her death, and to give him some satisfaction as to why it refused to take him as well, Alex had poured over report after report, news story after news story, chasing source after source of material to read up on. They all said the same thing toward the end of the era of the disease's reign, that those afflicted by it had been cured form the breakthrough, that those who hadn't contracted it would be saved from the vaccinations, that everyone who worried about the disease coming back could relax because there was no way to pass it on to another human being once you'd received the proper treatment.

Unless you had Stigmata, the seeming mutation of The Red Death that wasn't responding to any of the cures or vaccinations anymore.

And Alex did not have Stigmata symptoms. That meant legally they had to let him go home. Because he was fine. There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine.

“The others have already checked in with the hotel,” Aaron said and Alex felt himself release tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding onto. Aaron wasn't going to treat him like some disease riddled leaper that needed to be locked away and left to rot. “Angelica texted me the address. We should meet up with everyone and touch base before we turn in for the night.”

“Fair enough,” George replied. “We do have to make one pit stop on the way there tho.”

“Oh?” Aaron asked.

“Any time I cough up blood we go to Arby's to make me feel better,” Alex said with a shrug. “Comfort food and all.”

“I see.”

“C'mon,” George said as he squeezed Alex's shoulder again and ushered him forward while sweeping his other hand out to catch Aaron as they walked toward the exit. “We shouldn't keep the others waiting up too late. I want to touch base with them before they head to bed.”

 

* * *

 

Lafayette screamed as soon as he opened the door and threw his arms around Alex, crushing the bags of sandwiches in his arms and causing him to yell as he struggled to get the man off him. “And that's why I didn't want Alex to carry the drinks,” George said to Aaron as they sidestepped the boys in the hallway to enter the hotel room. He set the food down on a kitchenette countertop and started doling out the orders everyone had texted in, yelling at Lafayette and Alex to come back in and stop causing a scene in the hallway. Alex marched them both inside albeit awkwardly as the French man kept his arms wrapped around the smaller male and kissed him all over his face and neck, despite Alex's protests. George eventually separated the two and retrieved the bags Alex had carried in, diving up the food inside those as well as Aaron passed out drinks from the two trays he had.

“Alright sound off, is everybody present?” George asked, looking around the room and doing a head count. A chorus of agreement came back from the seven other members of his team and he nodded to see they were all okay; some of them glanced worriedly to Alex, who seemed oblivious to his peers as he tore into his food, but that wasn't anything unusual. “Now, as some of you are aware, we had to cut this evenings investigation short as we had a little accident.”

“Sorry guys,” Alex said, putting his hand up. “Didn't mean to freak you out, I'll try not to let it happen again.”

“Accidents are why we wear a condom!” Hercules called from the back, “Or else we gotta name them things like Alexander.”

“Hahaha!!” Alex said sarcastically over the snickers of the people around him. He fished a fry from the cup on his lap and chucked it at the man, who caught it and popped it in his mouth with a grin.

“Alright, settle down,” George minded them. “Now as we can all see, Alex is okay, thank God. But I want to take this time to remind all of you not to take any of this work lightly. Be careful moving through dark unfamiliar rooms, move slow if you have too. The equipment can all be replaced, but there's no way to replace a life.”

Alex felt Lafayette's hand rub his back and suddenly he felt a sharp twang of pain he hadn't noticed before. He shifted for a moment and it dulled to an ache. “Now I know this was only supposed to be a one night adventure,” George went on. “So if any of you have to be back home tomorrow, speak now...” Lafayette went to pet him again and again he felt the pain. “Laf, stop,” Alex hissed at him.

“Is something the matter, _grand frère_?' he whispered back.

“You're annoying me,” Alex told him.

“Either Laf or I will need to go home tomorrow,” Hercules spoke up and Lafayette turned his head as he heard his name. “Emily can't get all eight of the kids up and ready for school on Monday by herself.”

“What about Hugh?” Lafayette asked. “Can he help?”

“I don't think my brother gets off work in time for that, but I can call him,” Hercules said. “I'll go home tho, if it comes to that.”

“Okay, anyone else?” George asked. A general shaking of heads came back to him and he nodded once. “Alright, so our plan is—yes Peggy?”

The young woman put her hand down and shot a quick and worried glance toward the hotel room window before asking, “Are Laf and I allowed to say anything about—”

“For the last damn time, Peggy!” Alex cut her off, unexpectedly and with an exasperated tone to his voice. “The answer is No! It is always No! Stop asking.”

“Hey!” Angelica was quick to come to her sister's defense. “Don't you speak to her like that! She had a question!”

“A question we've all heard a thousand times, and the answer is always the same,” Alex replied. “She's not allowed to talk to Lafayette about anything she is feeling or experiencing until AFTER and investigation is complete. We go over this rule. Every. Single. Investigation. Motion to have that question barred from being asked again.”

“Denied,” George replied. “But Alex has a point Peggy, it's getting redundant that we keep having to tell you the same thing.”

“No, but this time—”

“ _ **MARGARITA SCHUYLER!**_ ” Alex yelled, jumping to his feet. “ _ **NO!!**_ ” His outburst earned him the immediate disapproving stare of everyone in the room, and Peggy's eyes began to fill with tears. She really disliked being called by her first name, it had always been the quickest way to shut her down. Now Alex was the jerk who couldn't have handled that better and he felt guilt as the eyes on him all stared. But he knew he couldn't apologize then. He was too fed up with the stupid redundant damn question she kept asking over and over and over. They say insanity is doing the same exact thing again and again and expecting a different result each time; what they don't tell you is that it's not just the person who does that is mad, it drives everyone else around them bonkers too. Alex stormed out of the room, and into the bathroom where he could try and get a goddamn grip.

“Do not worry, _mon cheri_ ,” Lafayette said as he moved to sit next to Peggy and rub at her back now. “Remember that Angelica has blessed the doors and windows, so nothing can come mess with us here. Nothing bad can cross into this space.” He looked up to where he too could see the dark imposing mass of shadow looming just outside the window. “It is not wanted.”

 

**END CHAPTER 2**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, you're always welcome to ask me questions about the story or give theories about what you think is gunna happen. I love reading these kinds of reviews from people because it gives me a good idea of how well I'm doing explaining everything that's in my head. See, I know the general plot of this fic, I have a sense of what's gunna happen, when and why. You will only have that same information if I can properly show it through the story. So ask questions of you don't understand something; it gives me a chance to reflect on how I'm telling the story and find a better way to explain the thoughts in my head. :3


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super love to everyone that is reading this at the snail's pace I'm setting for it as it updates. I appreciate you all for sticking with me and dropping notes when you do. Sorry it's not more frequent right now, but life was especially hetic the last month aaaaaand I had to put writing on pause to get some mental stuff sorted. I'm okay tho. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter.

**Chapter 4:**

He shut the door behind him and tried to get a grip on the whirling feelings of anger bubbling up inside. It wasn't common for him to feel so utterly agitated at Peggy for some stupid question, let alone the same one he let her ask over and over and over. But maybe that was just it, maybe he was just done listening to her whine and complain and be scared all the time.

Alex shook his head and turned on the faucet. He splashed water on his face and was disturbed for a moment as it washed away with a pinkish tint. Oh, no, that was just what was left of the blood in his goatee. He was cranky because he'd had an episode. He was always cranky after an episode, but part of him knew even this was a little extreme. He told himself he was just sick and tired of being perceived as sick all the damn time.

He felt another sharp pain in his back and he hissed out a sigh as he moved, feeling tingles of pain run along his back. He pulled off first his hoodie and then the shirt he had on underneath and turned his back to the mirror. The sight of three long cuts running from his left shoulder to his right hip startled him to see at first and he almost screamed. His eyes began to water as he took in the sight of them, reaching around to touch them with careful fingers, testing to see how sensitive they were. The blood was clotting, that was a good thing, and they certainly weren't like oozing blood. The marks looked superficial, not as deep as the lacerations he'd seen other Red Death survivor reports, but in his mind there was no mistake about what he was looking at. The cuts could be explained by nothing else.

He had a new symptom.

Alex sat down on the bathtub edge with shaking knees and put his head in his hands. It wasn't uncommon to experience multiple symptoms, but he didn't know how commonplace it was to get new ones. This scared him. But it changed nothing. The cuts were clear, this was all due to his compromised immune system; the one that worked just fine but still allowed blood to come up from time to time. Alex wiped away the tears on his face as he heard a knock come on the bathroom door. “Son?” George called clearly. Alex pulled on his shirt again, feeling a need to hide the cuts from his father before he said, “Come in.”

George opened the door and stepped inside the tiny bathroom, his figure instantly making the room feel smaller then it already was. Alex felt like a kid in trouble again, his father carried that same air of disappointment he'd always had when he sat Alex down on his bed to have a talk. “You want to explain to me what that was all about?” George asked as he shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

“I'm just so tired of hearing her question the rules over and over,” Alex lied. “It's never gunna change, so I don't know why she can't accept that and move on.”

“And you think trying to silence her voice like that was the best way to make your point?”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm not the one you need to apologize to, Alexander.”

“I _Know_! I'm _NOT_ a child anymore, George!”

“Really? Because you are certainly acting like one right now.”

Alex rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but bit his tongue and didn't say anything more to that. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't prove George was right. He was acting like a bratty child throwing a fit and he knew that, and blaming it on some disease he'd long since outlived, oh poor little Alexander Hamilton, life was so very hard for him, wasn't going to change that. But it's how he felt. He felt vulnerable and weak and sick and he hated feeling vulnerable and weak and sick when he didn't think he was any of those stupid things. So he didn't need people to keep looking at him with pity.

“I've decided we won't be doing an investigation tomorrow night.”

“What?” Alex snapped his head back to his father. “George, you can't be serious,” Alex started to get to his feet trying not to grimace in pain at the marks on his back. “We've come all this way! To just turn around and go back without doing an investigation proper, are you mad? We'll lose credibility!”

“I'd rather reschedule for a later date when you can have your head on straight then suffer through your bullheadedness right now, Alexander.”

“My head is fine!”

“No, it's not. Look, I don't know what got into you tonight, but you really upset Peggy—”

“So I'll apologize!”

“—And she wants to go home.”

“So let her go home with Hercules!”

“And be down half our members and half our equipment?”

“Wait, who else is leaving?”

“Aaron says he thinks he ought to be home to help his wife with their daughter too—”

“He just doesn't want to be around me because he think I'll get him sick!”

“You have no proof of that,” George countered. “And Angelica says she's not going to stay if you're going to keep acting like an ass.”

Alex heaved a sigh. “So I'll apologize,” he repeated.”We'll keep Peggy and Angelica, and Aaron and Herc can just head home on their own. We can still do the investigation—”

“Alex,” George said in a firm but even tone. “I've already made my decision.”

“But this isn't fair!” Alex almost whined. “I've been actually wanting to investigate this place for _months_ —”

“We'll come back, but right now the decision stands. Tomorrow morning we pack up and head out. That's final,” George said, and with that he left the bathroom. Alex sank back onto the edge of the tub, feeling crushed. He pushed his hands through his hair and lowered his head. For a moment he sat in silence just trying to get a grip on his feelings, then a soft knock came from the door and he looked up just as Lafayette was peeking in.

“Have you come to yell at me too?” Alex asked.

“The only yelling anyone could hear out here was from you, _grand frère_.” Lafayette entered the room with a quick twirl and softly shut the door behind him. “Your aura is very grey right now. I take it you are depressed about _la décision de notre père_?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Alex replied. “He shut us down. It isn't fair...” Alex lowered his head into his hands and bent forward. “I've wanted to come here since we started this stupid group and now we don't even get to investigate!” He felt Lafayette's hands on his back and Alex squirmed not to be touched. “Don't, Laf...my back is really sore right now...”

“What is wrong with it?” the French man asked.

“I....don't know, it just hurts, like I pulled a muscle or something, probably when I fell.”

“Want me to work on it some?”

Alex sighed as he began to pull his hoodie back on as well. “No, I'll be fine. I just need to lie down and rest some.”

“I can help with that,” Lafayette replied, already kneeling before Alex. “Turn around, I will do some work on you.”

“Not tonight,” Alex replied. “I'm in a pissy mood and just want to go to bed now so this horrible day can be over with sooner.”

“ _Alexandre, tout ira bien_.” He took Alex's hands in his and squeezed them gently. “ _Je sais que tu es déçu en ce moment mais tout ira bien. Nous pouvons revenir. Quand tu te sens mieux_ —”

“I feel _fine_ , Laf,” Alex interrupted as he stood up and stepped past the other. “God, will everyone stop treating me like I'm _sick_ all the time? I'm just fine, see?”

Lafayette frowned at him. “I know you think you are fine, but when I look at you I see very worrisome colors, _grand frèr_ e,” he replied. But with a sigh, Lafayette stood as well. “Very well then, if you are going to insist you do not want my help then I will refrain from giving it to you. You know you can always call me when you change your mind, _oui_?”

“Right, I'll call you when I feel like some jazz hands will stop my coughing up blood all the time. Nevermind that nothing else has done the trick yet.” Alex ignored the hurtful look Lafayette gave him and opened the door back into the hotel room. The only two left now were Hercules and George, both of whom glanced over as they heard Alex enter. “Where'd everybody go?” he asked, looking around.

“The girls are with Aaron and Ben next door,” George said as he turned back to looking over a map. “Hercules and Laf have one bed, you and I will share the other.”

“What if I wanted to share a bed with Ben?” Alex asked. He meant it as a joke, a way to lighten the heavy mood that seemed to fill the air between himself and George but the way his father side-eyed him from over his shoulder seemed to make it worse. “Right, your decision is final.” Alex headed for the door. “It's always final.”

“Where are you going?” George asked him.

“Down to the pool to dip my feet in the hot tub, or am I not even allowed to do that without your permission and approval, _father_?” He didn't wait for a reply though, just opened the door and marched out into the dark, cool night.

 

* * *

 

It watched as the Prey snipped at the others and pulled open the door, walking almost ironically right into it's arms. Oh, It couldn't touch the Prey yet, not yet, but soon. The Healer had stayed hidden in the other room, so It felt confident to turn and follow the Prey as he walked down the motel walkway. It took the time to examine the Prey, tasting the spicy curls of angry energy that wafted off him; it tasted good, but not what It wanted. It didn't want anger, or fear, or even worship. It wanted control. It wanted _him_.

_You really like this one, don't you?_

Yes, yes It _really_ liked this one. It wanted him, wanted to possess him. The Prey belonged to It, of that It was sure. No one else would have him. It wouldn't let them have him. It would take this Prey and keep it for Itself, forever. But how? How should It go about taking him?

_By force. Take him by force._

It hissed at the Other and growled that they needed to back off. It would decide how to take this Prey and It alone. The Other would learn their place if they touched It's precious, precious Prey. It watched the Prey head down the stairs and over to a gated pool, circling around the perimeter to find the entrance. Tufts of disappointment became evident as he saw that it was locked. It cooed, though he couldn't hear It; did his precious want to go for a swim? It focused on the lock, It knew It could break it if It just put enough effort in. The Other laughed. They thought It was weak. It's fury escalated and just as the Prey was turning to go back It snapped the lock on the gate. The clang of the metal yielding to It's will caused the Prey to stop and turn back toward the gate. How confused he looked reaching for the lock and finding it now undone. He carefully swiveled the lock until he could slide it out of the hole that latched everything together, then opened the gate and headed for the pool.

_We should try drowning him. That would be fun_.

Again It hissed at the Other and snapped and harsh _**STAY BACK**_. Nothing would hurt It's precious. Nothing but It. The Prey walked to the hot tub and sat down in a pool chair for a minute to pry his shoes and socks off, then roll his pants up to his knees. It marvled at how vulnerable the flesh of his leg was, It knew how easily it would be to scratch long bleeding marks into his skin and claim his flesh as belonging to It. The Prey then padded over to the edge of the hot tub and stepped in, sighing in content for a minute before sitting down on the concrete ground that surrounded the tub. He pushed long strains of loose brown hair from his face, and rubbed at his neck. It crept up behind him and trialed a long, clawed hand gently down his back, delighting in the twings of pain It felt stir from him. He shifted as if it might bring about relief and bent forward to hug his knees. It nuzzled closer, he smelled like roses and linen. It hated those smells. It would wash them out of him with blood and the screams of pain.

 

* * *

 

Alex looked up, feeling something watching him. The pool area wasn't exactly private, and although it was quiet all around his eyes couldn't help but be naturally drawn to the dark windows surrounding him. He tried to tell himself he was being silly, that even if some creeper was watching him, so what? Not like anyone was coming out to leer at him directly. He remembered the scratches on his back and tried to casually pat himself down to feel for blood, but felt nothing. He really hoped nothing had bled through, it didn't look that bad when he'd examined it in the bathroom. But maybe it had, and he couldn't feel it because it was clotting. Walking around with blood on your clothes, even dried blood, was dangerous and suddenly he felt vulnerable out in the open where he couldn't take his clothes off to check them over for fear of then exposing the actual lacerations to the world; or just, whoever the fuck was creeping on him, if there even was someone watching him, he was probably being silly.

“Yo, Alex!”

He snapped his head around to see Hercules at the gate, already pulling it open and stepping inside. “Hey Herc,” Alex greeted. “Can I ask you something and you promise not to tell my dad or Laf?”

“That depends,” the man said as he walked over to the same chair Alex had used to pry his shoes off. “Would I be in trouble if they found out I knew about something I should have told them about but didn't cuz you asked me not too?”

“They would,” Alex replied honestly. “But it's really not a big deal. I just need you to check something for me. That's all.”

Hercules sighed but asked, “what do you need?”

“Does my back have blood on it?” Anxiously Alex stood and turned to give Hercules a look at the back of his hoodie, pulling his hair and the cowl of the hood out of the way.

“Should your back have blood on it?” Hercules asked.

“Irrelevant. I just need to know if it does.”

“No man, you're fine.” Alex felt himself relax instantly and was about to sit down when Hercules added, “unless you're asking about that giant blood stain between your legs from your period leaking through.”

“What?” Alex said, checking himself despite knowing there would be no blood between his legs.

“Hah, made you look!”

“Ass!” Alex huffed and splashed water at his laughing friend. “I can't believe you're married with kids! You're so immature sometimes.”

“You're married with kids!” Hercules shot back. “And you're immature all the time.”

“Are not,” Alex argued.

“Are too,” Hercules chuckled. He raised his brows and smiled as Alex opened his mouth to retort, laughing once more when the other begrudgingly shut it again and sat down with a barely heard mumble. For a moment they sat in comfortable silence, Hercules leaning back in the chair and looking up to the sky while Alex swished his feet around in the hot water. “So,” Hercules finally ventured, causing Alex to look up at him. “How are you liking being a parent of two now? Or is it still too early to tell if you're gunna keep the second one?” He smiled as he saw Alex's face light up, even while rolling his eyes.

“It's so much work,” Alex pretended to complain. “Why didn't you tell me it was gunna be this much work? Don't you and Laf and Emily have like seven kids?”

“We do,” Hercules replied. “So quit your bitchin'. How's Eliza and the lil'uns doing, by the way?”

“We're alright. Philip is very excited and happy to have a baby sister so far, and he wants to help out so much that we can get him to do almost anything if we tell him it's for little Angelica. She's got her six month follow up with our physician in a few days, not really looking forward to that, but I know it's necessary.”

“She's already almost six months? Man, time flies so fast when they're little.”

Alex nodded. “Mmhmm, Philip has an appointment too, they're gunna need to take blood to test for my illness. God, I wish we didn't have to deal with doctors at all, he's just a little boy. Eliza is so amazing with her remedies and I just wish there was a magic potion she could brew them to keep them safe and healthy for the rest of their lives.”

“It doesn't work that way, friend. Besides, aren't you always the one saying that it can't be passed on to others from you or something?”

“It _can't_! But doctors are never _sure_ about anything and so, just to be 'safe', they gotta prick a kid and bleed him dry to test his blood for everything under the sun, or who knows what they're gunna do with it. And we've tried to stall them for as long as we could, but our physician has been really pushing us to get Philip tested and now I'm scared he's gunna start pushing us to get Angie tested soon too, and I am NOT having my newborn daughter stuck with needles while she's too young to understand what it's for.”

“I know, I know,” Hercules said. He reached forward and patted Alex on the shoulder, ignoring the way he rolled away out of his touch. “Look, if you don't want them to test Angie, you just make sure they know you want to wait until she's a little older like Philip is, okay? You have rights as a parent, and I know Eliza will stand by you with that.”

“Yeah, but then we get this spiel about public safety and a thinly veiled threat of CPS getting involved if we don't comply and that's a whole 'nother issue that's even more goddamn terrifying then what the doctors will do with my kids and I just—”

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Hercules moved from the chair to sit next to Alex on the edge of the pool, crossing his legs instead of hanging them in the water. “You know better then anyone what your kids need right now, Alex. You and Eliza both. And if they try to take them, Laf and I will do everything we can to bring them home with us until everything gets sorted out. Or Hugh even, we aren't gunna lose them to the system. But you are doing nothing wrong, understand? You take them for all their checkups and I know you of all people would never let them lapse on the medicine they need, wither it be from Eliza or a medical lab.”

“I know,” Alex sighed. “Does it ever get easier, this parenting thing?”

Hercules smiled ruefully at him. “No, you just get better at doing it. By the way, when are you guys having your next kid? Don't tell me you're gunna wait til Philip is ten!”

Alex laughed a bit then. “I don't think we're gunna have any more then the two we got. Eliza was quite happy to get a little girl, we're satisfied for now.”

“You're never satisfied with anything.”

“Maybe I am on this,” Alex said. “I love them so much, Herc.”

“I know, Alex. Believe me, I know.”

For a moment they sat in silence, Alex swishing his feet around in the water as Hercules scooted to be closer to the edge. “Hey,” a voice called from the other side of the gate behind them and they both turned to see a security guard approaching. “The pool is closed for the night fellas, what are you doing in there?”

“Oh!” Alex said, getting to his feet and collecting his shoes while Hercules stood beside him. “I'm sorry, I saw the gate was unlocked and figured it was okay to go in.”

“The gate's been locked since 10pm, two hours ago,” the guard replied.

“No, it wasn't,” Alex replied. He headed over to the gate in question and pulled it open as if that would prove him correct on the matter. “See? Unlocked, and completely accessible.”

“That's impossible,” the guard said. “I locked this gate myself.”

“Well clearly, you didn't,” Alex retorted.

“What my friend means to say,” Hercules cut in before the guard could answer, “is that we're sorry we trespassed and it won't happen again. We're staying in room 207, by the way, but we'll be out of here in the morning. We were just hoping we could enjoy the hot tub a bit before bed, but if it's closed, it's closed. We're sorry to have been a bother.” He nudged Alex to step past the gate and the followed behind, smiling in as friendly a way as possible to avoid angering the guard any more. “We'll just be heading back to our rooms then, if that's okay.”

“You got any proof you're a guest here?” the guard asked, holding out their hand. “Keycard, ID?”

“This is ridiculous,” Alex muttered, “Look, you don't need to harass us—”

“Alex,” Hercules said soothingly. “They're just doing their job.” He handed over a keycard for the guard to inspect but refrained from giving her his ID. “If you want to ask the office about us, it'll be under the name Ben Franklin, two rooms, eight guests. My friend and I would be more then willing to go with you to the office if you'd like, but I will be talking with hotel management about our side of the story if that is the route you wish to take here.”

The guard returned the keycard with a grunt. “That won't be necessary, I can check the info myself. Don't let me catch either of you in the pool area the rest of the evening, alright?”

“Understood,” Hercules said. “C'mon Alex, let's head back now.”

 

* * *

 

It followed the Prey as he headed back toward the room, the room with the Barrier. It hissed and scurried and fretted. The Prey shouldn't be going behind the Barrier, the Prey needed to stay with It. Behind It the Other laughed.

_Same as always, so eager to start working. But we need a plan first._

It hissed again, trying to stop the Prey from walking further down the path toward safety but the Prey walked right through It, leaving only the taste of something delicious in his wake. It was stirred for a passionate moment, a longing for something It didn't know.

_Are you listening to me?_

It ignored the Other, they weren't important right now. Only It's precious, precious Prey mattered. Only—

_**I SAID LISTEN TO ME!!!** _

It was jerked back by it's chains, the chains that bound It to the Other, the chains that drained It's strength and powered the Other, made them stronger, made It weak. It growled as It was subdued, dragged back to that more powerful Other, made to look away from It's precious Prey as he walked across that Barrier that would protect him.

_Look at this one._

It did look upon the human soul entrapped in the dark coils of the Other now. Pitiful, pitiful human soul, screaming as he was torn into and raped by the twisting coils of energy sucking darkness, wiggling around in agony, his torment fueling them both. But it wasn't enough. They would both need more. More fear. More torment. More agony. More fuel.

_I can take that from you if need be._

It growled, lowly and displeased. It did not want to go back to being the fuel source. That was what the human soul was supposed to be for. That was why It wanted it's own human soul.

_Then LISTEN to ME. We need a plan. A careful plan._

A plan? The plan was to feed off the Prey and make them It's source of strength and power. The plan was to feed off him until he was too weary to fight back, then convince him to take his life and ensnare his soul before he could find his way into the light. That was the plan. That was always the plan.

_**NO!** This one is special. This one has a strong soul, he is well protected. We cannot just take him by our usual way, pet._

Then why were they wasting their time with him at all?! They could find a weaker soul, a less protected soul, and once they had that one, they could come back for this one.

_He would very well be dead before that was accomplished, and then we'd lose him for good. No, souls like this are hard to find. Wear him down, break him down, break him open, then take him. He will serve us well then._

How? How? How? How would the Prey be of service? How was he so much better then a passer by on the street? How would they get to him if he was so protected and strong?

_Because, my pet, weren't you listening as you were lusting after that sweet little soul of his? He has a family. That means, we need a plan. Now, **COME WITH ME.**_

 

* * *

 

John screamed as he was swallowed by the darkness, darkness that pressed in from every side. Claws dug into to him, dug through him, he screamed and kicked and trashed but there was no relenting their onslaught. He hurt in ways he couldn't describe, heat searing his flesh, bones snapped and broken in the grip of something he could never name. He only stopped screaming when he was beaten, hit so hard he felt his neck snap, but he wasn't dead. He would never die and be released from this torment, from this hell.

All he knew was pain and the delight something he couldn't name took in seeing him suffer.

 

**END CHAPTER 4**

 


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